Same Old Lang Syne
by shadows-of-1832
Summary: It's almost ten o'clock at night on Christmas Eve when the doorbell chimes. There's that old familiar pain from weeks ago. Even as he watches her leave, there are words left unsaid. Modern-Era.


Author's Note \- Alright, so it's been awhile. The next chapter of Living in Memories is coming along, just rather slowly. As for this, its universe comes from another story I've been working on that I have yet to post (This would actually take place before it begins)...I wish I could write something a little happier...

* * *

It's a magical time of year, something so commonly said about Christmastime. The weather turns cold, and the snow begins to fall. As he walks to his internship at the town's local paper, he does what he can to avoid slipping on the icy sidewalks. There's Christmas music on the loudspeakers in nearly every store and café he wanders into. There's the peppermint hot chocolate at the local coffee shop. Colorful lights are strewn alongside buildings. Plastic snowmen appear on neighbors' lawns before the first snowfall. Santa Claus makes his appearance within the malls and alongside red buckets while ringing a bell. Stores are crowded as people go after last minute gifts. Children are scampering about in the snow, throwing snowballs with glee, occasionally (and usually, accidentally) hitting unsuspecting passersby.

It's a time of renewal. Families reunite after not being together for a year, if not longer. Relationships, if strained, reach some point of repair. Whatever damage was done, somehow it may be forgotten, if only temporarily…

How ironic for him. If anything, he has been torn apart.

Let's start off with his parents. Now, he is not necessarily upset with them, per say. After all, they had managed to get off from work while he did not even make the attempt. At least his sister tried to get some vacation time for the holidays while she was studying and working in Italy for the year. The plan was to get a flight to Ireland to spend the winter break and what would be a portion of the spring semester with his mother's side of family, and so she could also look around and do some research on her Scots-Irish heritage. If necessary, it wouldn't be too difficult for him to come back before the semester started.

Alright, so that doesn't sound too awful…Yeah, he did not make the attempt to get some time off, but his parents (or his mother, at least) are kind enough to understand that his job and potential career are more important. So what reason does he have to be upset for?

It's likely to be his mother's last Christmas, that's why.

"She's in remission," said the doctors a year and a half ago.

"It's come back," said the doctors about five months ago.

"There's nothing more we can do," they said three months ago.

The doctors were lucky he was there when they told his parents the news. Though his father can keep composure well in the courtroom, he almost lost it and the son had to hold him back before he gave one of them a broken nose.

When all had calmed down, it was his mother who had the strength to ask how much longer she had left. A simple, rough estimate of how much time she had to say her goodbyes.

"About six months."

He has to reason with himself, about how this is reality. He is truly, truly upset about the inevitable. However, he struggles with denial. A reason he did not try to get some time off from his work and studies was because he did not want to admit what is going on around him, that maybe, by some chance, it would go away, or that it is only some dream he has yet to wake up from.

His friends tried to console him, all of them, but to no avail. Even Combeferre, with his gentle and wise words, could not seem to lessen the pain.

The other thing…

It's almost ten o'clock at night when there is the chime of the doorbell, on Christmas Eve, no less. He's all by himself, his friends with their families, his family gone away. There are four stockings on the mantle, all of which will remain empty, will remain untouched until he takes them down along with the other decorations. The fireplace is burning low as he takes a small sip of eggnog, his mind focused on a biography Jehan had recommended to him. He had gone out earlier to shovel the sidewalk, but as the snow gently continues to fall, much of those efforts seem wasteful.

The bell rings a second time before he manages to stand up and make his way to the door. It's almost reluctantly that he opens it, not in the mood to deal with carolers. However, the sight on the other side once the door's opened wide causes him to pause.

"Eponine…"

She dips her head in greeting, a warm, shy smile upon her face. "Enjolras."

There's a moment where he feels he should shut the door in her face, after what she's done to him. He cannot bring himself to do it, though.

So, let's get things straightened out here. Miss Eponine Thenardier (or Miss Jondrette, to some) happens to be a dear friend introduced to him through a fellow student known as Marius Pontmercy, who, coincidentally, was dating Enjolras' cousin Cosette Fauchelevent.

Well, actually, "dear friend" may be the wrong title in this circumstance. It's complicated. The pair (referring to Enjolras and Eponine) had started dating during their first year of college. They are now both in their fourth year. However, something happened between then and now that drew such a relationship to a close. It happened a few weeks ago, actually.

If he has to be honest, he could have been a bit more reasonable, more understanding. Did he listen to her side of the story? Yes, he did. Was he open-minded? Not exactly. In fact, there were thousands of ways he could have handled better, but of course, he cannot rewind time.

In her words, it was an accident. She managed to get herself drunk and stupid at that Halloween party, the one that he missed because of exam he had the following day. In his mind, she didn't think how her actions would affect others, him particularly. It was a onetime occurrence, she had told him with tears streaking her face. Just that one time. He wanted to believe her, he did, and yet…and yet she never even told him that it happened. He instead had to hear from the other member of the incident, who had given him such a smirk that it was a fortunate thing Courfeyrac and Combeferre were there to hold him back, knowing full-well that Enjolras would likely end up in the emergency room if they let him fight.

She never told him. She hid it from him for less than a month. She didn't think to trust him, that maybe…maybe he could forgive the incident. The way he reacted when he did find out…that did not help the situation either.

The way he looks back at it now, he did the same amount of damage she did.

She flashes him an awkward smile, before her head tilts and she's looking at the ground. Her hands are shoved in her pockets. She rocks back-and-forth on her boot-clad feet. There's that open question in the air, words waiting to be said, but the voices remain silent.

He isn't sure how much time goes by before she finally speaks.

She removes a small box from her coat pocket and gestures for him to take it. "This…it's from a while ago, before we split. I couldn't exactly return it, but it was something you were talking about."

He is not sure how to respond. He shouldn't accept it, whatever it is…to him, it wouldn't feel right.

Despite the debate reeling through his mind, he takes the box from her hands. She does a small nod with her head, a silent way of her asking him to open it. Hesitantly, occasionally glancing up at her, he undoes the bow. Her eyes are focused on the box, likely suppressing the joy of his reaction to gift, even as he removes the lid of the box to reveal an old pocketwatch.

His grandfather's pocketwatch.

"You were always talking about getting it fixed and having it cleaned up, but were never able to find the time to do the proper research into a repairman or anything of the sort," Eponine explains. "I managed to find somebody in the area whose family has done this for years…I thought it would be a nice surprise."

"It…it is, Eponine. Thank you." He almost reaches out to embrace her, but he fights back such a gesture of gratitude. "Would you…would you like to come inside for moment?"

She looks him in the eye as if she is not sure if he's serious. A hesitant nod, and she walks in.

She takes off her boots by the door and hangs her coat on one of the hooks while he goes off to make her a mug of hot chocolate (He would offer eggnog, but there's already a considerable amount of rum it). She sits down the recliner by the tree, scanning the room for any changes since her last visit. Nearly everything is the same…

He walks back into the room just as she picks up a tiny velvet box from underneath the tree. He almost drops the mug in his hand as he catches her open it out of the corner of his eye.

Dammit, how did he forget that was there?

Her eyes go wide, a hand covers her lips following an audible gasp. She glances up at him, her eyes now pained. He only nods awkwardly, not sure how to proceed from this point.

She regains her composure after a few seconds, before slowly closing the box and handing it to him.

"I shouldn't have left that there…" he mutters, taking the velvet box and placing it in the side-table drawer. He takes a deep breath. It was his mother's engagement ring, and had he and Eponine not broken up…Well, the pieces aren't too difficult to put together.

"I should go…" she rises and starts to make her way to the door, and he just barely catches her wrist. She glances at his hand, a moment of pause before she looks into his eyes. Heaven knows what she sees in them—pain, grief, loneliness, an ache from lost love…

In hers, he can see slight confusion. However, the deeper he goes, the more similarities he manages to find. There are emotions she would prefer not to express, memories she would rather not allow to unravel, because of the pain they bring.

"Stay?" he asks, and he doesn't want to think too much into how pitiful and painful it sounds, nor how desperate of a plea it seems to be.

She hesitates. "It wouldn't be wise…not after…especially with the way we…"

He loosens his grip, and she makes her way to the door.

"I can't do this to you," she shakes her head as she put on her boots. "I know enough to know where this will lead if I stay here. I…I can't…I don't…want to hurt you again. I love—I care about you too much to put you through that."

"If we could just sit and talk—"

She reaches for her coat. "We talked enough."

"I should have handled it better," he says evenly.

"It's too late now." Eponine puts on her coat. "You made everything loud and clear then. If you cannot trust me, then how can—"

"You didn't trust me enough to tell me!" he half-shouts, and it's in this moment he realizes how close he's gotten to her, having walked towards her in the midst of the conversation. His face is just inches from hers, and he can feel her breath upon his lips. Their eyes lock, just for a moment…

As they both lean forward, she pulls away.

"I can't," she ducks and places her hand on the doorknob. She twists it and takes a step out the door. "Merry Christmas."

And she's gone.

After a few moments of contemplation, he returns to the chair. The mug of cocoa, still steaming, sits on the floor alone, untouched by her lips. He returns to the biography, but finds that his mind cannot focus. The family cat brushes against his leg for attention, and he obliges.

"There's no writing my way out, hm, Eliza?" he questions aloud. The cat only gives a small chirp in reply.

He glances at the fire, and only embers remain. The snow, for now, has paused. Things have stopped.

Alone on Christmas Eve? At this time of year, what could be worse?

If only he knew what next year would bring…


End file.
